Read Online The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads) by Carol Marinelli - Free Book Online
Authors: Carol Marinelli
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Adult, Family Life, Bachelor, sensual, nurse, hospital, emergency room, Forever Love, Single Woman, Hearts Desire, Single Father, Young Boy, Bachelor Dad, Consultant
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bed?’
‘It’s full,’ the anaesthetist answered, then glanced down at his trilling pager and used irony to soften the fact that someone had just lost their fight for life on ICU. ‘Scrap what I said. It would seem that a bed just came up—it must be this guy’s lucky day!’
Heading to the interview room with Hamish to inform Vince about what was happening, even if Ronan’s prognosis was extremely guarded it was still way better than had been hoped for.
‘I’m going to paint it pretty black for him.’ Hamish caught her arm just before they reached the door. ‘If it sounds as if I’m being harsh, then that’s how I intend it be.’
‘Sure!’ Charlotte replied easily.
‘Sure?’ He frowned down at her glib response, surprised at how unperturbed she appeared at the prospect of speaking to Vince. Yes, she was experienced, but so was he, and even after all this time, breaking bad news was never pleasant. But Charlotte didn’t notice his frown, wasn’t even looking back at him. Instead, she stared at her arm, stared at each freckle and hair, stared at the pale flesh that should surely show the burn his fingers had made—not that he had grabbed her, his fingers had barely made contact…
But it had been their first touch.
They’d lived together for four days, had shared meals, conversations and passed Bailey between them and yet, Charlotte realised, it was the first time they’d actually touched.
‘This could be really difficult,’ Hamish elaborated. ‘I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.’
‘In all probability his son’s going to die…’ Tearing her eyes from her arm, Charlotte met his stare as she responded. ‘Or worse, he’s going to be brain damaged—so, no, don’t fret. I’m not going to go in there waving streamers and telling him it’s time to crack open the champagne.’
‘Good.’ Hamish nodded and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘What’s happening?’ Pacing the tiny interview room like a caged animal, Vince stopped and hurled the question the second they entered. ‘Charlotte—what’s happening?’
‘Sit down, Vince.’ Her voice was incredibly firm, directing this huge, agitated man to a chair, and Hamish noted that with just three little words she had paved the difficult way for him. By not jumping in, by not hurriedly telling him that they’d managed to get Ronan’s heart beating again, Vince was actually expecting to hear that his son had or—because of Charlotte’s promise—was about to die. His ruddy face rested in his rough hands as he braced himself for the words no parent ever wanted to hear.
‘Ronan is very ill.’ Sitting in the chair opposite him, Hamish watched as his words sank in, as the wail of grief that had surely been building was stifled. ‘It took a very long time to get his heart beating on its own again.’
‘But it is?’ Vince’s voice was a croak.
‘Yes.’ Hamish nodded. ‘Right now he’s intubated and we’re trying to stabilise him enough to move him to Intensive Care, but I have to warn you…’
‘He might have brain damage?’
‘That’s one of our main concerns,’ Hamish responded.
‘I worked on him straight away, Doc. I was telling Charlotte here that I’d done the instructor’s course for first aid.’ Pleading eyes jerked to Charlotte. ‘I know how to do CPR.’
‘You did an amazing job,’ Charlotte responded, and it was appropriate that she did so. Bonds were quickly established in the most dire of circumstances and the fleeting interview had clearly forged these. Hamish didn’t intervene, realising that, for whatever reason, Vince clearly needed to hear Charlotte’s take on things. ‘There was absolutely nothing more you could have done for your son—you’ve given him the best possible chance in the most dire of circumstances. However, the resuscitation was extremely prolonged and as Dr Adams said, brain damage is a very real possibility.’
‘What’s the other major
‘It’s full,’ the anaesthetist answered, then glanced down at his trilling pager and used irony to soften the fact that someone had just lost their fight for life on ICU. ‘Scrap what I said. It would seem that a bed just came up—it must be this guy’s lucky day!’
Heading to the interview room with Hamish to inform Vince about what was happening, even if Ronan’s prognosis was extremely guarded it was still way better than had been hoped for.
‘I’m going to paint it pretty black for him.’ Hamish caught her arm just before they reached the door. ‘If it sounds as if I’m being harsh, then that’s how I intend it be.’
‘Sure!’ Charlotte replied easily.
‘Sure?’ He frowned down at her glib response, surprised at how unperturbed she appeared at the prospect of speaking to Vince. Yes, she was experienced, but so was he, and even after all this time, breaking bad news was never pleasant. But Charlotte didn’t notice his frown, wasn’t even looking back at him. Instead, she stared at her arm, stared at each freckle and hair, stared at the pale flesh that should surely show the burn his fingers had made—not that he had grabbed her, his fingers had barely made contact…
But it had been their first touch.
They’d lived together for four days, had shared meals, conversations and passed Bailey between them and yet, Charlotte realised, it was the first time they’d actually touched.
‘This could be really difficult,’ Hamish elaborated. ‘I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.’
‘In all probability his son’s going to die…’ Tearing her eyes from her arm, Charlotte met his stare as she responded. ‘Or worse, he’s going to be brain damaged—so, no, don’t fret. I’m not going to go in there waving streamers and telling him it’s time to crack open the champagne.’
‘Good.’ Hamish nodded and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘What’s happening?’ Pacing the tiny interview room like a caged animal, Vince stopped and hurled the question the second they entered. ‘Charlotte—what’s happening?’
‘Sit down, Vince.’ Her voice was incredibly firm, directing this huge, agitated man to a chair, and Hamish noted that with just three little words she had paved the difficult way for him. By not jumping in, by not hurriedly telling him that they’d managed to get Ronan’s heart beating again, Vince was actually expecting to hear that his son had or—because of Charlotte’s promise—was about to die. His ruddy face rested in his rough hands as he braced himself for the words no parent ever wanted to hear.
‘Ronan is very ill.’ Sitting in the chair opposite him, Hamish watched as his words sank in, as the wail of grief that had surely been building was stifled. ‘It took a very long time to get his heart beating on its own again.’
‘But it is?’ Vince’s voice was a croak.
‘Yes.’ Hamish nodded. ‘Right now he’s intubated and we’re trying to stabilise him enough to move him to Intensive Care, but I have to warn you…’
‘He might have brain damage?’
‘That’s one of our main concerns,’ Hamish responded.
‘I worked on him straight away, Doc. I was telling Charlotte here that I’d done the instructor’s course for first aid.’ Pleading eyes jerked to Charlotte. ‘I know how to do CPR.’
‘You did an amazing job,’ Charlotte responded, and it was appropriate that she did so. Bonds were quickly established in the most dire of circumstances and the fleeting interview had clearly forged these. Hamish didn’t intervene, realising that, for whatever reason, Vince clearly needed to hear Charlotte’s take on things. ‘There was absolutely nothing more you could have done for your son—you’ve given him the best possible chance in the most dire of circumstances. However, the resuscitation was extremely prolonged and as Dr Adams said, brain damage is a very real possibility.’
‘What’s the other major
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